


Lead Me Into The Wild

by Nopholom



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Abuse Mentions, Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Gang Violence, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Violence, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: The animal seemed odd, lowering onto all fours and prowling a few paces, baring his teeth and snarling, but not attacking, he’d never seen a beast act patient, almost calculating as it weighed up this terrified man.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [28ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts/gifts).



> I got a glimpse of Ghosts' prompts for the exchange and couldn't help myself. As usual I've gone schmoopy at the end sorry.

It had been a while since Goody had last taken up a bounty on something other than a small time criminal; it was a personal choice, humans were easier, less messy, you could see where their morals lay before they’d even opened their mouths. Hunts were trickier, dealing with something that looked like a man but thought like a beast required a fine honed mind and a quick trigger finger; you had to get them just before or sometime after they changed, despite the gaping window given by the breaking of bones and shedding of skin, it was a useless time period, they couldn’t feel a thing, so broken and torn between two forms, two minds, that even a bullet to the brain did _nothing_. He had learned that first-hand, watched as the silver round buried itself deep within a morphing skull, only to fall to the ground in a puddle of hissing blood and brain matter whilst his quarry became a living, slavering beast.

His theory was that the shift was a complete cellular regeneration, everything was _new_ , replaced with bestial power, thoughts, and compulsion, all humanity was tucked away into a small pocket in the brain. He thought that perhaps that point in their brain was the same in each one, and if a hunter knew where it was, and was accurate enough a shot, that they could hit that during the change and kill both man and beast.

He had yet to explore this theory, as capturing his quarry on a Hunt was nigh on impossible; they fought to the death or they killed you, and he didn’t have the patience or the bullets for trial and error, he was tired and usually close to starving when he resorted to a Hunt.

He was rapidly approaching that on his current Hunt, he’d spent the last of his coin on a few silver bullets and a place to spend the night, having to settle for a hayloft, where he sat loading the bullets into his rifle and sucking on a strip of jerky to stretch out the meal.

He was up there when his alleged roommate strode in, an Asian named “Rocks” who ‘kept to himself’ according to the owner of the barn, insisted he wouldn’t get much trouble from the other man, though the moment Goody saw him he knew that may not be the case. Rocks held himself in a familiar way, seemed to prowl as he crossed the barn floor and headed to the ladder, stopping short and letting strong shoulders sag a fraction; the barn doors flung open and a group of men surged inside, armed with various tools, this wasn’t going to end well.

“China man!” one of them barked, Rocks’ head dropped a fraction before he turned slowly to face them, “We told you to leave,” the man slurred, he wasn’t drunk but he was pretty close, which probably explained why he was so stupid.

“I will, when I finish working,” Rocks said in strong English, his voice was low and his accent was evident and heavy,

“You ain’t gonna get the chance, I saw you talkin’ to my _wife_ ,” well this certainly _was_ interesting, Rocks didn’t even try to defend against those words, sighing and rolling his shoulders, waiting as the man surged forwards with some kind of hammer raised to strike.

Rocks dipped below the arc of the weapon and shifted to the side with unnatural speed, the man looked confused but went to hit him again, missing twice more as Rocks easily dodged and sidestepped without so much as lifting a hand.

“Don’t just _stand_ there!” the man barked at his mob, they lurched into action and Goodnight watched quietly as this lone man ducked and weaved away from arcing blades, hammers, and fists, it didn’t look like he was even _trying_.

 

The glancing blow of a knife finally caught Rocks and he jumped back, the men stopping and watching, out of breath as he slowly dragged two fingers across the cut on his cheek, Goody watched him lick the blood from his fingers and knew he should intervene, but he was frozen in place as the shift began, eternally fascinated by it.

Muscle rippled visibly through his snug clothes, seams beginning to tear as cracking and popping echoed around the barn, he began to twist and contort, his bones breaking and stretching, his skin splitting like his clothes did, looking in pure agony as he changed. His face grew longer and inhuman, a furred muzzle bursting through his stretched tight skin, slick with blood and home to jagged, drool covered teeth. Goody should have done something, should have shot the lycanthrope when he’d realised what he was, it was too late now, he’d have to wait for the change to complete, for the beast to emerge, hopefully before any of these men got themselves killed.

Most of them ran, leaving their leader behind to watch in shock and awe as a hulking bipedal wolf stood where a man once had, shaking blood off his fur like an animal before turning and directing his haunting gaze at the lone man. Goody sighed and sat back, retrieving his rifle and taking aim at the beast, one shot and this would all be over,

“Lord above…” the man gasped, looking around franticly, realising he was alone and looking back at the beast.

The animal seemed odd, lowering onto all fours and prowling a few paces, baring his teeth and snarling, but not attacking, he’d never seen a beast act _patient_ , almost calculating as it weighed up this terrified man. He gave a “buff” through his slavering maw and the man staggered back and fell, sobbing and scrambling to his feet to run out the door, the lycanthrope stopped snarling almost immediately, huffing a _sigh_ and shaking its large head before padding almost casually outside. Goody was in an odd state of shock, he’d seen dozens of lycanthropes throughout his hunting years, none of them had ever turned their nose up at a potential kill, none of them had ever been so _placid_ and in control, usually feral and violent, hungry for flesh and blood.

He shouldered his rifle and descended from the loft, following after the beast and spotting the clear marks left by both the fleeing men, and the beast itself; he had ventured a completely different direction, large prints crushing the leaves and trailing off east, off the farm and into the wilds rather than west to the town. He followed the lycanthrope from a distance, blissfully downwind to the beast, so his scent would be harder for the animal to notice, especially so close to a town; he kept the beast in his scope, watching as it loped through the heavy woods, stopping to snuffle at the ground or mark a tree. The beast stopped suddenly, head raising and nose scenting the air before he sank low to the ground and began to stalk after something, soon pouncing and ragging his head around, something small in his maw. Goody sighted the almost cloth-like being and realised it was a hare, a hare the beast was now devouring, tearing apart like it was nothing, the way he’d seen lycanthropes gorge themselves on human entrails in the past.

He was surprised when the animal stood up on its hind legs, ears perking before it ran, Goody did his best to follow, darting through the woods after the animal, growing wary as he began to recognise the outskirts of the town. He found a hillock and crouched down, scanning the area for the beast and spotting it hunched low, waiting, snarling; he followed the animal’s stare and had to do a double take. The man who had fled the barn last was visible through the window of the nearby house, _hitting his wife_ , screaming and cussing at her as she cowered and took the hits like she deserved them. His guts twisted in rage and he was half tempted to shoot the man himself, but didn’t want to risk the wife, so all he could do was watch and wait for his opportunity; the man eventually had his fill and staggered out of the house, clearly drunk now as he dropped onto an old bench and pulled out a cigarette.

It never made it to the man’s mouth, the beast was on him and Goody had a clear shot to take out _both_ of them, but he didn’t, lowering his rifle and returning the way he had come, something told him that man would be the lycanthrope’s only victim that night. He turned out to be right.

Rocks was gone the next day, the lycanthrope had scarpered in the night, leaving his meagre possessions in the hayloft, so Goody collected them up and headed out to explain away the corpse as an animal attack. It was surprisingly easy, none of the men who had seen Rocks shift were willing to say a damned thing about it, not to the local law _or_ Goody when he asked them. He was half relieved about this, picking up the trail at the edge of the victim’s land and marking it before retrieving his horse.

 

He tracked the lycanthrope for the next couple of months, intentionally lagging behind enough to find the aftermath of his presence, he found out the beast’s name was Billy, not just Rocks, and very rarely did bodies turn up after he’d passed through. It was a strange thing to witness, even second-hand, and the occasion he _did_ trot into town with the news of a body to greet him, a quick dig around showed the victim to be an unfavourable sort, an abuser, a criminal, a corrupt business owner, he couldn’t fault the beast for that.

He hadn’t expected Billy to still _be_ in the next town when he arrived, he never usually was, but he’d been here about four weeks from what Goody had gathered, and nobody was about to tell an Asian that a white man was asking about him. Goody was sat in the back of a saloon, drinking quietly, when a group of men accosted his Hunt, hurling abuse at him for long enough that he dipped his head and left the bar, the men waiting a short while before following, Goody counting to ten before he did the same. The air was frigid and bit through his clothes, but he trudged after the men regardless, following silently as they made their way into the desert, his rifle slung on his back just in case. The men continued to holler their abuse at Billy, catching up to him and shoving him forcefully so he staggered, quickly righting himself and walking quicker. Goody veered off towards a hint of foliage and crouched with his rifle, watching first over and then through the scope as the large group followed the lycanthrope away from the town, expecting to lynch him, given their behaviour.

He watched in avid fascination as Billy whirled around and began to fight the group, knocking a few out with some well-placed punches before dropping to the ground and shoving himself back in an inhuman bound, baring his teeth and snarling as he began to shift. Seeing him shift again was an awe-inspiring experience, he felt a chill run down his spine this time, he’d never been so fascinated by a lycanthrope’s transformation before, but something about this was different, like it was a privilege to see this and not just a facet of the Hunt.

The beast that gradually erupted from Billy’s skin was glorious in this light, muscular and coated in dark fur, such a huge, dangerous creature with oddly intelligent eyes as he regarded the remaining, terrified men. Goody sucked in a breath as the beast pounced on one of them, tearing into his throat, blood spurting in a stunning arc over the body before he lunged at another man, his bulk pinning the man to the floor, raking knife-like claws down a chest, rending through thick clothes and thin skin, blood pouring everywhere. Goody couldn’t hear them screaming, which meant none of the townsfolk would either, but from the faces of the men they were definitely vocal; he heard the gunshots faintly, saw crimson bloom from the beast’s skin as he was hit, but he kept moving, a fluid entity tearing grown men down like they were nothing.

He was reluctant to leave this spectacle, but knew that as soon as Billy was done, he would flee the town, and Goody didn’t want to risk losing him; he ran back to the town, slowing to a calm walk as he approached the saloon and unhitched his horse, swinging up onto the mare and kicking at her, trotting her back out to his little hillock and sighting down his rifle once more.

The beast was still there, half the men were clearly dead, though the ones he had knocked out in his human form were visibly breathing, unconscious in the dirt, left alive through some divine intervention they would likely imagine when they awoke, but it was truly because they had done nothing to earn death at this beast’s hands. He realised as he inspected the aftermath that the beast wasn’t moving, trailing his scope to look at it and freezing when he saw golden eyes looking directly at him, and as if he knew Goody had noticed, he turned and ran. Goody whipped his horse and they bolted after the wolf, coursing across the desert plains and working his mare to close the distance as quickly as possible; he was relying on his own sight for this, grateful the animal was so dark of coat and easily visible in the distance.

When he finally gained on the wolf, it was no longer a wolf, instead Billy Rocks was walking slowly into a dying attempt at a forest, naked as the day he was born, stopping when Goody drew to a few yards away; he turned and looked at Goody, who had to avert his gaze to the man’s face pointedly, cheeks flushing.

 

“So you finally found me,” Billy rumbled, cocking his head slightly as Goody eased off of his horse and hitched her to a nearby husk of a tree,

“I never lost you,” he had his back to Billy, “Cottle County, one week, one victim, a wife beater, Stonewall County, two weeks, no victims, Howard County, three weeks, one victim,” he listed more places, timeframes, and victims or lack thereof. “Brewster County, four weeks so far I reckon, I didn’t count the bodies,” he gestured where he had come from as he finished his list, turning to find Billy stood dangerously close to him, a hint of shock and fear in his eyes. Billy’s hands found the lapels of his jacket and held him, threatening and imposing despite their height difference, Goody was only vaguely intimidated though, he didn’t believe Billy would kill him, but having a lycanthrope this close to him still sent fear trailing down his spine.

“You should’ve killed me,” he uttered,

“No,” Goody denied, about to continue when suddenly he was on his back on the floor, Billy on top of him, expression feral and teeth inexplicably jagged. He closed his eyes and steeled himself with a breath, he _knew_ Billy wouldn’t kill him, he had enough faith in his findings that he was safe here, even as he felt Billy’s breathing grow ragged and the smell turned to the sickly sweet of rancid meat, the hands digging into his clothing turning to claws. When he cracked his eyes open he was face to face with a slavering beast, and he was relieved to think that this was the first time he’d ever been this close to a living lycanthrope, “You’re not going to kill me,” he said, voice shaking slightly, “I know it,” the lycanthrope snarled in his face as if to prove otherwise, “I think we could help one another…”he said, watching as the animal withdrew a fraction and looked at him expectantly. “You kill bad men, well Billy, _I do too_ ,” he admitted, trembling as he tried to meet that haunting golden gaze, “Bounties mostly, easy money if you have the energy, which I believe _you_ do,” there was recognition in those eyes, mixed with judgement, “but I suppose white folk don’t let you collect them huh? Or they pay you a third what they offer, not much you can do to counter that, so you settle for work as a dogsbody, pardon the term,” the lycanthrope snarled at him but he persisted, “So I say to you, Mr Rocks, work _with_ me, you’ll get your fair cut, more than that if you’d like, I help you navigate the white man’s prejudice…” he trailed off then, what did he say he got in return? Surely Billy expected him to want _something_ , but was ‘a companion’ enough? Being able to see Billy shift into the glorious beast he had atop him? He knew there was something dark about his inclination towards the lycanthrope, though for now he could ignore it, “Easier living for me,” he said finally, something flashed in those golden eyes and he knew he was caught in a lie, but Billy did not punish him for it, pushing back onto his haunches and crouching on all fours at Goody’s feet, watching him and waiting. “Is that a yes?” the beast shrugged at him and he laughed before gaging his surroundings, they weren’t too visible here, a good enough distance away from Billy’s _deeds_ for them to not be blamed if anyone _should_ happen upon them, but Goody didn’t have any of his possessions. Billy was clearly in no state to return to the town, likely wouldn’t at any point now, he thought idly that he would double back and get their things in the morning, standing and beginning to gather the workings of a small fire so they could spend the night out here.

 

It took a while, but he managed to set up something akin to a camp, all the while Billy lounged in his wolfish form, sprawled out in the dust and dirt, watching with bright, intelligent eyes as Goody lugged wood about and set fire to some kindling.

“Good of you to help there, cher,” he said as he finally sat down, lying back on the thin bedroll he usually had strapped to his saddle, he pushed his hat over his eyes and tucked his arms behind his head, relaxing as the fire warmed him and the evening pressed on. After some time he felt something shift, a hot press of flesh against his side, too large to be human, he peeked under the brim of his hat and saw that Billy was beside him, a hulking cross between a man and a wolf, sat up and slowly but surely sinking onto him. He was heavy, but not uncomfortably so, his large canid head rested on Goody’s stomach, his paws were tucked against his side, and Goody found his fingers moving to trail through that dark fur, certain that Billy was only remaining this way because sleeping in the nude wasn’t much fun on a night like this.

His body was searing hot against Goody’s and he appreciated the warmth, absorbing it as he pet the dangerous lycanthrope, slowly starting to comprehend how much of a privilege it was for him to be so close to something like this without being in immediate danger. Billy was brutal, death on four paws, but he was intelligent, controlled, _beautiful_ , Goody felt awed at his presence and restraint, and he realised, as his fingers trailed through fur a mix between silk and wire, that he was starting to fall _in love_.


End file.
